#one day ill write the daydreams in my head in a coherent way

[mochaintherain]

Accismus

Summary: You're a treasure hoarder who's stolen the most precious thing in Inazuma: the crown prince, Scaramouche. (GN! Reader)

Word Count: 2.4k

CW: VIOLENCE!!!!! Mutual violence, but like. there's undertones. idk. Reader isn't a good person, Criminal Reader, Antagonist reader, unestablished relationship, a little toxic (given the circumstances), blood, Royalty AU, (Scaramouche whoops your ass.)

A/N: Formatted on Mobile ♡. Sorry I've been away! This was originally meant to be for a larger story but my ass Did NOT finish it so I'm just going to post this lolz...plus, with Fontaine, there is so much potential ( ☆∀☆) BUT FINALLY SCARA FIC! posted at. 3 in the morning :')

Silver to gold.

The raven insignia colored like the brilliant sun would finally, finally, be yours to claim—tangible, indisputable proof of your convictions, ambitions, and desires. If the gods gifted conduits to those they considered worthy, then this coin was more than divine acknowledgment.

This insignia was your Vision, bestowed by fellow mortals.

Because today, you have captured a trophy.

Prince Scaramouche glowered in the chair he was untenderly pinioned to, indigo eyes never once breaking from your figure. He hadn't spoken once since his fateful acquisition, instead redirecting what would usually be a flurry of insults into a piercing gaze, sharp enough to cut flesh.

His yukata—the layers of purple and red silks, once draping his form in nobility, status, royalty—laid disheveled across the ground. The only things remaining before his abduction were the dark juban slipping over his body, along with the necklace made of black and red string, harboring a single, golden feather. The man in front of you, now a mere ghost of what he used to be.

You nodded to your men as they finished the last knots on his wrists, nodding to you, before departing the tent. He tugged at the restraints, grimacing.

"Wipe that damn smile off your lips," he sneered, red eyeliner melting in the crinkles of porcelain skin.

"Oh? So he finally speaks. Hello, your Highness—" you bowed lightly, though in no part due to deference—"how did you know? Was my excitement truly that obvious?"

"Tch. Not even that rag you call a mask can hide your ugly face."

"...wow." A soft laugh bubbled from your throat, and the corners of your lips twitched—up close, he couldn't escape scrutiny. The rumors were entirely true.

His infamous, hot-headed temperament juxtaposed his delicate features.

Even through anger, he was beautiful.

"Get away from me, worm," he jeered, narrowing his gaze.

"I suggest you mind your manners," you chastised, closing the distance between the two of you, much to his dismay, "you have no authority here, and your mother isn't here to protect you. So know your place, Prince." You spat the last syllable, honeyed in vitriol. The feather accessory almost crumbled in your grip as you jerked it forward, ripping a strangled gasp from the man.

"Here, you're as insignificant as the rest of us, got it? Your blood is just as red as mine when spilled."

With your thumb and forefinger, you pulled a little more, the strings protesting by digging themselves into the skin of his neck.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Scaramouche wheezed out, his head craning forward, coughs and laughs mixing into raspy drawls, "please. One blemish on me and your head will be on a pike."

"Hah." Your free hand trailed up the plush of his cheek, fingers resting on the crease of his eye.

"Get your filthy hands off—"

"If that were really the case, if you were so precious—" you smeared the pristine makeup onto his temple, and Scaramouche let out a guttural hiss, "—it wouldn't have been so easy to pluck you out Tenshukaku."

"You—!"

And the necklace snapped.

At that instant, his body tensed and his face contorted into a snarl, teeth ready to snap at your limbs. What little poise he managed to conjure for this ordeal dissipated in a matter of seconds.

How amusing.

"You have no idea what you've just done."

"Why so riled up? I'm sure your mother will get you a new one, you spoiled heir," you hummed, stepping away before his teeth could find your arms, "of course, unless the rumors are true?"

Infuriation overtook his indigo eyes, along with a flicker of hurt…or pain?

"Enough," he barked, "one more word and I'll rip your tongue out myself." The remark appeared almost funny, the way his shoulders shook like a petulant child.

If only you saw past the hilarity, and caught the screech of nail to cotton fiber.

"Tell me," you continued your taunt, waving the feather haphazardly in the air. At that moment, he was more hilichurlian than prince, "is it true you’re nothing more than a prince in name? How much of a brat are you, to be denied your birthright on the throne?"

"You'll regret that," Scaramouche seethed, "do you know who I am? Do you know who you're dealing with?" Every passing word accompanied another shake of his arms. "I'll have you beg for mercy."

"I think you're overestimating yourself," you said, rolling your eyes. "I don't think someone who fell victim to treasure hoarders, of all groups, has any—"

"You talk too much."

A small, misplaced half-smile spread across his countenance as the rope fell behind the chair with a soft thud.

The rope tethering him in place.

The rope with red-tinged ends, allowing him an opportunity to lunge.

You narrowly barreled out the way, too busy swallowing down shock.

“Give that back!” Scaramouche hissed, “that’s mine!”

You clenched the aureate pinion in your fist, ramming your elbow into his side.

“Tch!”

He staggered back, glaring you down. Moonlight peeked from the tent’s entrance, and illuminated his back in a way that made him seem almost holy.

But surely, no angel would be stupid enough to stay where their wings would be clipped. His aggression outweighed his rationality, you deduced, as instead of fleeing, weak sparks of electro spat from his bloodied fingertips.

“Huh. You sawed through your bindings using nothing but your bare hands and energy. That’s kind of impressive.”

“That’s mine,” he repeated, “that’s mine.”

“Is it now? I don’t see your name on it.”

Now on adjacent sides of the tent, the two of you locked into a waltz of frenzied attacks and defenses.

Despite not having a sword, the eventual successor of the Musou no Hitotachi fought as if he embodied the blade. Nimble fists like the wind, he slashed at your frame. He moved with deadly, facile, precision, adorning your skin in small, blooming bruises. Your only saving grace to avoid anything greater was your own adeptness to combat. Each swipe was blockaded by a feint on your end, each kick met with a parry, two adversaries encompassing the other in a cramped space, both sparring for purchase in a hopeless impasse. Static blanketed the air as the assault droned on.

This unnecessary long-winded fight could end the moment your men came to your aid. Is that why he guarded the entrance so fervently?

“You know, one scream from me and you’re done for,” you quipped.

“Hah. I’m not that weak.”

You bit your tongue to avoid spilling out the thought that, no, he wasn’t, and you respected his strength.

“There’s fifteen of us and one of you. Don’t be an idiot, now,” you said, laughing softly, taking a step forward, “we overpowered you once, and—oh, history has a habit of repeating itself.”

His brows furrowed, and he glared at you. “Do it then. I don’t care,” he sneered, a sardonic smile threatening to overtake his face, “I’m sure you’ll sound lovely.” The prince matched your footwork; he was hellbent on taking you down.

You knew that if he was afforded any advantage, you'd succumb.

So began the reprise.

Each hit on your forearms, each returned in equal fervor, each swerve you employed to avoid his kicks, your lungs heaved with short-lived air, the deadlock turning evermore in his favor.

As the dance raged on, your composure waned. Imbalance. Sloppiness. Exponentially labored breaths—in, out, in...in, in, in....

“Hehe. Surely you can do better than that, thief.”

This wasn't just a difference in ability. No, how could someone not grow weary after this long? Scaramouche maintained an imperious grin on his face, never once faltering. It was as if he was inhumane.

Maybe this was the effect of royal blood.

Another stumble meant another loss, another small victory awarded to your enemy...

"Why are you even here? Just give up," he spat, aiming a particularly strong punch to your ribs.

Was he getting faster, or were you slowing down?

You saw it coming. You watched how his painted nails—crimson, bloody—clenched together, how sadism bled into his smile, how it traversed through the air...

It was most certainly the latter.

Air knocked from your system, it was your turn to stagger.

"You're weaker than I thought. How pathetic," he said flatly, shaking his hand off, "how disappointing."

You couldn't breathe. Every attempt to reach for air ended in sharp pains and the dispelling of oxygen in your lungs. That damned rag. There was no point in trying to hide your identity at this point. Already too deep in, the crime too far gone…

You clawed the mask off your face, glaring at your opponent.

"You're the one that talks too much," you gasped out between shuddering breaths, your lips contorted into a twisted grimace.

Amidst your blurring vision and preoccupation with beating the man in front of you into submission, you weren't privy to the shift in his visage.

How his eyes widened, taking in every one of your features.

Disbelief casted onto his expression.

Awe.

That too, unfortunately, left him unguarded.

Scaramouche, for all his capabilities, likely lost the battle when your mask fell, and he caught a glimpse of your true face.

Your desperation drew an epiphany; you didn't want to kill him, but you had to fight back. But what if it killed him? What good was a sale if you had no product? Worthless. But what good was a ransom if no one could sell?

Fuck. It didn’t matter. You were a treasure hoarder. A thief. Bound to scrounge Teyvat for leftovers.

And this Prince, right in front of you?

His life was a prize, and you've always had a propensity for stealing.

That was your ambition. Your talent. Your worth.

You were not going to let that gold insignia slip from your grasp.

Not that easily.

Your fingers ghosted your sash. The miniscule glass buzzed with elemental energy.

“I’ll give you one chance, prince,” you murmured. “Stop this ceaseless fight or else.”

“No,” came his immediate response, eyes flickering from your face to your fist, “I’d be a fool to give up when I’m winning.”

“Then stop while you’re ahead,” you snapped sweetly.

With only another laugh escaping his lips, he suddenly burst forward once more. You squeezed your eyes shut, his form like a bullet in your path.

His skillful fighting captivated your senses, yet you had to resort to playing dirty.

As he drew closer, close enough to touch, he took you off your feet, and you grappled at his robes. The feather fell to the wayside, and the prince jerked his head to follow its descent.

Squeezing the pyro potion with your free hand, you could not keep down your thoughts this time.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

The bottle effortlessly smashed against the small of his hip, the unleashed fire focusing its fury on his defenseless muscles.

You winced, the crackle in the air running up your exposed skin in droves. Pyro and the Electro within him swirled and exploded in tandem.

Scaramouche gasped, breath hitching, shoving you away as he convulsed onto the dirt, sudden twitches of protesting muscles exacerbating his agony. His skin stained with sweat—waves of fire rolled over each pore—and shards embedded into his now bloodstained robes—all while folded on his knees--a pitiful display.

You rose on shaky legs, picking the gold ornament back into your palm. At the very least, you could sell this. His carcass would easily hide underneath the sands of Nazuchi beach.

…

…

…

No.

No, something was wrong.

“How…how are you still conscious?”

Although he was clearly affected, and you witnessed his body overloading, the way his head snapped in your direction, and managed an irate expression, devoid of obvious pain that was there mere seconds ago—fascination erupted inside your chest.

“That’s….that’s mine. Give it back!” The demand lacked the vitriol you expected. Instead, it was coated in a breathy plea. “Please! My...my heart...”

“I…” you were at a loss for words. “T-this?” You opened your hand, and his arm—like an instinct awakened within him—darted out to wrench it from your grasp. But, without the support, his body weight lost to gravity.

“Agh-!” He fell, wincing but his arm never went down. “Anything…anything, but that feather.”

Moonlight flooded in as you stared down at your handiwork. And your subordinates, who carried in the odor of sake, who finally noticed that you hadn’t joined in on their hasty celebrations, ran to pin Scaramouche, yanking his arms behind his back, with metal cuffs this time.

“Boss! Are you okay?”

You only hummed at their concern.

"I don't need attention. Our prize does."

Scaramouche, in his hazed state, did not register the moniker. His body forced into rigidness, exhaustion eating at his strength, he only groaned.

Ambling toward the crumpled man, you kneeled, ignoring how the dull ache of your ribs made itself known. Your men, perplexed, slowly backed away, giving you and him some space. He sighed softly as you pulled him into your lap, knees a pillow for his weary head. Taking his face in your hands, you inspected his pulse.

Nothing. Perhaps it was too weak, or too erratic, and yet he continued breathing; clearly alive. How? You wondered. Expected from someone who came from the Raiden herself. Brushing a stray hair sticking to his face, you smiled down at him. What a precious thing he was.

His pupils dilated at your touch, a shudder ravaging through his body. It ached.

"I'm glad you survived. It would have been a shame," you hummed, engulfing him in your gaze. “Out of everyone I’ve come across, you’re the most interesting.”

“You'll pay for this," he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut as he clenched his teeth. His words hardly stung. They held no edge.

"Perhaps," you whispered, parting his fist to place the feather into his grasp. "But for now, I win. I dont need this anymore, since I have you."

"You-"

"Hey, has anyone ever told you?"

"H-huh?" Scaramouche coughed again, too weak to do anything but softly huff.

You began to carefully unwrap his juban away.

"What do you think you're—" the Prince gasped, but was silenced with a finger to his lips.

The robe now discarded, you examined the blood painting over his complexion, the glass a mosaic on his figure.

"My Lord, you really do look beautiful in red."

You carefully started removing the shards out of his figure. His blood stained your skin. But he didn't squirm.

Instead, he whispered a promise under his breath, only for his ears.

"When I get my hands on you, and I win..." Scaramouche muttered, clutching his feather in his palm.

"I'm sure you will too."

.

#genshin fanfic #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x you #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi #There was so much more. this was an opener. #But like . i have so many hobbies #also i play genshin an unhealthy amount so theres that #one day ill write the daydreams in my head in a coherent way #and my insanity will be broadcasted to the world #and the world will echo back. #kunikuzushi x reader

[justfrozenthings]

Eternal Happiness

Paring: Anna/Kristoff

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,431

Notes: Just a little fic I wrote for @annaofthenorthernlights. Hope you enjoy this fluffy family fic I wrote!

Summary: Anna and Kristoff spend a nice day on the lake with their newborn daughter Amara as they reflect on the happy times of their life together.

Anna hummed a soft tune as she cradled her newborn baby Amara in her arms. “She has your nose. Thank goodness,” Kristoff chuckled as he sat beside his wife on their bed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and happily looking down at the little bundle that they had created together. “And your hair,” Anna sighed dreamily, resting her head on his shoulder.

Kristoff rubbed small circles along her back. “You know. I used to think I never needed anybody, that it would just be me, Sven, and our boat. But then- well then I met you. And now here I am. I have a beautiful wife, a loyal dog, a great boat, and now a little girl that I can call my own.” Tears began to swell in his eyes as he thought about how lucky he had been. “I couldn’t be any happier than I am right now.”

Anna kissed his cheek, “Me either.” She rose to her knees and nestled herself in Kristoff’s lap, being careful not to disrupt little Amara from her slumber. “Tell you what. How about tomorrow we take the boat out for a nice little cruise on the lake. I figured we’ve been so busy as of late it would be nice to take a little break.” She looked down at the sleeping infant in her arms, “Plus. Amara hasn’t been on the boat yet and I think she’s old enough to go out as long as we’re careful.”

Kristoff beamed at this suggestion and kissed the soft ginger hair on his wife’s head. “I could not think of a better way to spend a day with the two girls I love most in the world.”

-----------

Anna placed Amara in her stroller and pulled the hood down so that the sun would not be beaming down on her. Anna dawned a huge white floppy sun hat with a cute little white sundress printed with sunflowers and brown sandals to match. She pulled down her sunglasses as she sat on the front porch, carefully rocking the stroller back and forth while she sipped on an ice-cold glass of lemonade. Kristoff was still in the kitchen packing up their lunches. As she waited, Anna closed her eyes and listened to the sweet chirps of the birds and the soothing music from the chimes that were being blown in the light breeze. She daydreamed about her life and all the opportunities that she had been blessed with. Growing up, she was often lonely. Her sister Elsa and her used to be very close as children, until one day she grew very ill and, in worry, their parents kept them apart so that Anna would not catch it as well. Though she knew her parents meant well by doing this, as they were told that the chances of Elsa surviving were slim, it still caused her to have just the tiniest amount of resentment towards them. However, that was all in the past now. Elsa had pulled through and Anna had fixed her relationship with her sister and now their bond was stronger than ever. Not only that but she had found happiness with Kristoff and now had a daughter made from their love. Kristoff always called himself the lucky one, but Anna thought that, if anyone was lucky, it was her.

When Kristoff came out with a reusable bag filled with their lunch he saw his wife looking ever so peaceful on the porch swing he had built. The sun cast a radiant glow upon her ivory freckled skin and her hair looked like wildfire. Gently setting the bag down he kneeled in front of her taking her hands in his. “Hey. Anna, ready to go?” Anna gave a small yawn and stretched her arms over her head. “Yep. Oh, did you make sure to pack the sunscreen?”

He gave a small nod. “Everything is all packed and ready.”

Together they strolled down the street of their neighborhood, holding hands and pushing the stroller as they laughed about the good times of the past. One story, in particular, made Anna laugh so hard, lemonade came out of her nose.

The story was about their first kiss and how awkward the both of them had made it. Both were too nervous to ask or give any sort of hint that they were ready to take their relationship to the next step. But, as Kristoff dropped her off on her front porch he decided that it was now or never. However, instead of forming one coherent sentence, it came out all scrambled and tongue-tied. At some point within the sentence Anna swore she could have heard him say “we me,” but he was rambling so fast that she couldn’t be sure.

When the little family had reached the marina they made sure to stop by and say hello to friends and neighbors. They had let those hold Amara who had already met the sweet baby and introduced her to those who hadn’t.

Eventually, after Kristoff had to nearly drag Anna to with him when she finished a conversation so that she would not go and start another one, they made their way down the wooden dock.

As Kristoff got the boat ready, Anna was busy strapping a lifevest and lathering sunscreen on Amara. However, when he snuck a quick glance, a deep rumble echoed in his stomach as he laughed at his wife and daughter who was now covered in streaks of white. Okay, so maybe she went a little crazy on the sunscreen, but can you blame her! Amara was still only a newborn and Anna, being the protective mama bear that she was, would do everything in her power to protect her. Even if that meant applying an excessive amount of sunscreen.

Once the boat was all set, and Anna had finally decided that Amara had enough sunscreen, Kristoff pulled out of the little port. Anna went to go sit beside him, placing Amara in her lap and resting her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes and let out a delightful sigh as she felt the soft wind blow through her hair. “This is nice,” Anna said, giving a small smile. “We have both been so busy lately, that we hardly get to spend some nice quality time with one another.”

Kristoff wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Yeah. I miss you when I’m at work. It’s strange not having you there.” Only a year after the two had gotten married they opened up their own flower shop. Flowers were actually what had brought them together, and they both hated being apart from each other for long periods of time, so they thought why not start a business that had a connection to their eternal happiness. But ever since Anna had the baby and took on the job of being a stay-at-home mom, Kristoff missed getting to work with her every day. After cruising around the lake for a few minutes, they found a nice shaded enclosure to anchor down and eat their lunch.  They continued to ramble on about the happy memories they have made as they ate their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and sipped on the sweet nectar of their ice-cold lemonade. Amara was still breastfeeding so Kristoff had packed the blanket Anna used to cover herself up with whenever she fed the small child. They finished up their meal with a nice chocolate cake with chocolate icing, Anna’s favorite, that Kristoff’s mother had made for them a few nights prior to help Anna get through the stress of taking care of a newborn baby.

The little family had spent the rest of the day basking in the summer sun and listening to Kristoff strum a silly song he and Sven had made many years ago. They felt sorry for leaving the sweet old dog behind, but he didn’t really care for he took his job as protector of the house, and Amara, very seriously.

As the sun began to set, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky, the family had made their way back to the marina. When they had made it home and the couple had nestled down in their bed holding each other contently, they reflected on the joys the day had brought them. “Today was perfect,” Anna sighed as she nuzzled her husband’s neck. “Yeah,” Kristoff said as he placed a kiss on her head. “Just another day we can add to our list of eternal happiness and more to come.

End Notes: Sorry for any grammar mistakes. This is just a fluffy little family fic that I may or may not make into a series. I already have a mermaid fic that I am writing and a forbidden love fic I want to start so we'll see how this goes. I have no clue why I like putting all this work on me either. But hey, at least it's something I like doing.

                 Ao3

#kristanna #kristanna fanfiction #my fanfiction #just a fluffy little family fic

[hot-tea-gardenparty]

Title: Moments 

Author: coffeeforcastiel 

Rating: Mature 

Length: 1,105 

Pairings: Dean x Castiel, Destiel 

Warnings: Mild sexual content 

Summary: What I imagine could happen in the daily life of our two hunter boyfriends following the downfall of Chuck in S15. 

Note: I am honestly just testing the waters here with a short example of my writing to see what kind of reception (if any) it gets. I've been out of the fanfiction writing business for many years due to adulting, but recently I've been itching to write again. This is just a drabble I quickly typed out over the past few days when I had the chance, so this isn't really meant to go anywhere or really be...solid. It's just weird daydreams I have had that I decided to put on paper. 

Dean was covered in brown goo. Brown, smelly, slimy, all too gag-inducing goo that had been lining the walls of the garbage dump cave dwelling of a hygiene ignorant shapeshifter. A shapeshifter that, once shot by a buck round from Castiel’s sawed-off, splattered it’s loose-skinned body in every single direction.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean grimaced, running a hand down his face and watching the slime slip down between his fingers to the muddy floor. “I got some in my mouth!”

Rolling his eyes and shrugging in return, Castiel tiredly dropped his gun barrel down against his muddy leg, “Would you rather you’d been attacked?”

“Dude, chunks of his skin is in my hair.” With a shiver, Dean looked over to Castiel, noticing he hadn’t fared all that well either, goo and muck weighing down his new black leather jacket and smooshed across the front of his blue plaid button up.  

“You’re welcome.” Castiel sighed.

Prying his sopping boots up out of the mud, Dean motioned to Castiel, pushing them to move towards the exit of the not-so-deep cave. Castiel fell into line next to Dean, watching in amusement as Dean continued to fuss with his appearance until they reached the slightly sunlit opening of the cave. It was finally dawn. They had been out hunting this shapeshifter for over 12 hours.

“We should hurry and get out of here before the morning shift starts.” Castiel stated as he squinted under the glare of the rising sun, trying to make out the distant shape of the dump’s front entrance sign.

Dean nodded his agreement, pointing the way with the butt of his gun, fingers prying at a fruit sticker currently glued to the side of his neck.

Ten minutes and a painful climb over a sharp metal fence later and they were back in the Impala, albeit not until after Dean had laid out a scrap blanket for them to sit on.

The Impala roared to life and quickly rumbled out the back entrance to the trash yard, the harsh right turn onto the pot-holed gravel road leaving Dean to wince as a fresh cut oozed against the pull of skin under his shirt and near his belly button.

“We’re getting too old for this shit.” Was all he said.

***************************************************

“Why does this matter again?” Castiel asked from the bed, his large arms crossed over his naked chest, a flimsy white motel sheet covering the rest of his exposed body.

Dean scoffed from across the room while he gripped tighter to a long, tan trench coat he’d recently bought at a thrift store, the tags still attached to the floppy lapel. “Just humor me.”

A soft smile tugged at Castiel’s lips, hindering the harsh effect of a deep eye roll. Dean had been the one to tell him to lose the trench coat once he lost his angelic grace, to push him to ‘change up the duds a bit, be more human’ and yet now, he wants to put him right back into the same old outfit.

“Just admit,” Castiel started, getting up from the bed and walking bare across the thread-bare hotel carpet to grab at the coat and hold it up to the ceiling light, “You have a fetish for the old coat.”

“Maybe.” Dean shrugged, his mind too preoccupied with a very naked boyfriend looking over a cheap-ass coat like it was the contents of a witch’s hex bag, to formulate a coherent reply.  It amazed Dean to no end watching Castiel truly embrace being human this go around, being content with the body he had and appreciating the feelings that came with it.

Immediately following the big battle with Chuck, Castiel had been beaten and bloody, his clothes ripped and torn to pieces. With no grace to assist in their repair, and with Sam and Dean both horrendously unskilled in the art of sewing, Cas had had no other choice but to replace his once daily outfit with Dean’s hand-me-downs and random findings from the nearby Wal-Mart.

All in all, Dean loved Castiel’s ‘new look’, but there was still the random moments where he missed the routine and comforting appearance of the crooked tie, white shirt and baggy trench coat had given him. That look was all Cas, uniquely Cas…his Cas. Soft dark brown hair, piercing blue eyes, tinted caramel skin, ill-fitting suit and a stupid tan coat. That was him.

Although, Castiel’s tight new pair of Levi’s were never a distraction Dean would complain about.

Speaking of distraction… “Cas, are you serious?”

The new trench coat was now fitted perfectly over Castiel’s shoulders, his naked body almost completely covered by the two front lapels.  With a chuckle, Castiel looked up at Dean in amusement, “What? Did you change your mind? Should I forgo the coat?”

“Uhm…” Dean stuttered and cleared his throat, mind once again faltering at the…intriguing…image in front of him, “No…nah…uhm, still suits you.”

Dean could feel his heartbeat start to race as Castiel casually walked up to him, a soft smile on his lips and the trench coat swinging with his gait, revealing tantalizing strips of skin as he moved.  

Once their chests were about to touch, Castiel leaned forward, bringing his lips to Dean’s ear, his voice low and seductive as he whispered, “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

Static shudders cascaded down Dean’s skin as he slid a warm finger into the slit in the front of Castiel’s coat, bumping and brushing teasingly down the smooth skin of his partner’s chest and the slight dip of his stomach.  Castiel’s bright eyes were focused solely on Dean’s as his head pulled away slightly, the intensity of his gaze holding firm even as Dean’s hands and fingers continued to stroke and tease under the shadow of the coat.

Castiel finally leaned in and pressed his lips to Dean’s a heartbeat later, the kiss full of heat and sticky-sweet promise as they wrapped their arms around each other.  

Dean slid his hands fully under the coat, finally smoothing them down the firm muscle of Castiel’s backside, “Dean…” Castiel gasped, “Dean, wait, your pocket’s vibrating.”

Stopping his ministrations but keeping his left palm filled with Castiel’s skin, Dean groaned as he pulled his phone from his right pocket, eyeing the reminder he’d set on his phone earlier the previous day.

“Check out’s in ten.” Dean huffed as he slid the phone back into his pocket, his arms coming back to fully encase his boyfriend once again.

Castiel chuckled, softly kissed Dean’s temple and took a deep breath, “Guess I need to put pants on then?”  

#destiel #dean x castiel #deanxcas #dean winchester x castiel #destiel fanfiction #destiel short fiction #drabble #destiel fic #fanfiction #i am so nervous #i hope you all like it enough #no one will read this but...whatever